Day 51: Stacks of stones

The riverbank

Stones dry now when

They should be damp

It’s been eight weeks of lockdown

And many hours of heat

Deer prints

Otter

Gull

Child

Dog

And human touch of moved rock

Sandy between whitening boulders

Each time we go down there

To the riverbank

More stones have been

Stacked and placed

By human hands

Even my altar has been made

Into a table leg

A more practical use

Than ritual

Toadlings

Their pool a month too small

Scum floats upon the surface

They squirm

Do they feel how little time they have?

We stack and stack

The quiet click of stone

Upon stone

The only sound

Quiet meditation

Feel the still point

And dissolve into balance

A city!

A hospital

An altar- much more elaborate than Teisa’s

Where I would place a single flower

Or leaf for gratitude

To the flow and power of the river

Stones upon stones

Stacked for the beauty of the process

Like cups pecked into rock

It is the act

The doing that counts

Angel wings

Caught in time

Once so long ago

An angel laid down

And was turned to stone

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